


This Life

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s11e02 This, mulder and scully are in love, scully is sick, trying to make their relationship work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Post "This": Scully is sick and Mulder is taking care of her.





	This Life

The fire is crackling lazily in the fireplace as Mulder bustles about, busy as a bee. Scully watches him from her cocoon on the couch; he feels her eyes following him around. All that’s peeking out from the blanket she is wrapped in is her face and not even all of it. Mulder briefly wonders what she’d do to him if he referred to her as a Scully burrito.

“Your tea should be ready in just a moment, Scully,” se says instead and picks up a stray magazine. One of his, of course. Scully, even sick, picks up after herself. Turning to her, though, he reconsiders; she throws a used Kleenex next to her and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Don’t touch it.” Scully’s voice is thick and achy as he leans down to pick up the used tissue. “You’re gonna get sick, Mulder.”

“Scully, we’ve recently been handcuffed together, we have slept together,” she raises an eyebrow, “fine, have slept next to each other, and shared a muffin. This one Kleenex is not going to make a difference. Your bacteria are all over the place.”

“Fine,” she groans, coughs, “Get sick. Where is my tea?” Mulder grins as he strolls into the kitchen. They’ve managed to make the house look presentable right before Scully caught a cold. She’s been bundled up on his (theirs, really) couch ever since. With the weather as it is there is no way for her to leave anyway. Mulder smirks; he has never been so happy about a snow day, ever. The thermometer outside gave up sometime in the morning, is now frozen in place. Just like the ice against the windows, a work of art. Mulder doesn’t know how cold it is, his phone says -22 F, but he knows he is not going to set a foot out there today, tomorrow or in the foreseeable future. Scully coughs in the living room and Mulder remembers the tea. He warms his hands on the hot mug and carries it to Scully. She smiles at him with small, tired eyes.

“Do you need anything else? Honey?”

“Mulder, we talked about this,” Scully sniffs reaching for the Kleenex.

“Talked about what?”

“You using terms of endearments like honey.” She takes a sip from the tea, sighs.

“I wanted to know if you wanted honey for your tea, Scully.” Her face reddens and if he were to comment on it she’d tell him something about running a fever, about the hot tea or even the fire. But Mulder knows; they could be standing outside, knee-deep (or in her case, waist-deep) in the snow, and her face would be just as flushed. He bites his lip to stop himself from smiling, but it doesn’t quiet work.

“Oh… no, no I don’t. Thank you.”

“Anything else then?” The honey remains on his tongue, he thinks it now, but doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to aggravate her when she’s feeling sick. He’ll save the terms of endearment discussion for another day.

“Just you,” Scully mumbles against the rim of the tea cup.

“Me?” She nods.

“I can do that.” He sits down next to her and the couch shifts under his weight, brings her closer to him. Mulder puts his arm around her shoulder and she comes willingly. She is warm, but not as warm as she was earlier. A good sign. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“You can sleep, you know.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles against his neck, nuzzling it. Or maybe he’s imagining it. She just said she’s tired, after all. Then she does it again; her lips open against his skin and she kisses him gently. “Thank you, Mulder. For taking care of me.”

“Always, Scully. I might need you to return the favor soon-ish.” She lifts her head to examine him with her eyes.

“I told you, Mulder,” she whispers with an apologetic smile and struggles with her blanket. Her arms come free and she moves even closer, so close that she’s almost sitting in his lap, and covers him with the blanket too. Mulder reaches behind him to grab another one. With Scully around one is never enough anyway. He’s bought so many blankets (a few new ones when they were at IKEA the other day) that they could easily build a blanket fort. Mulder watches her struggle to keep her eyes open and her mouth closed, her nose sounding like a train. He folds his blanket fort idea safely away in his mind, keeps it for a rainy day. Or another snowy one when Scully isn’t sick.

“Are you still cold, Scully?” Mulder whispers against her temple and brushes a strand of hair away. She sighs against him, shakily.

“No,” comes the mumbled answer, “You’re really warm. Maybe it’s you who is sick, not me.” She giggles against his neck and he feels something wet there, decides to ignore it. They’ve shared all kinds of bodily fluids already. One more really won’t change a thing.

“Try to sleep, Scully.”

“Hm, but what about you?” He doesn’t answer her. All he wants to do is stay here on this couch and watch her. Make sure she doesn’t cough too much, doesn’t sneeze too much; be there with a Kleenex when she does.

“I’ll try to sleep, too.” It’s a little white lie and he doesn’t feel guilty. Scully doesn’t answer him anymore, she only cuddles closer, slings her arm around his waist and sleeps with her head tucked between his shoulder and his neck. He wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
